


Reconvergence

by EllieL



Category: Gone With the Wind - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-12
Updated: 2006-06-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: Scarlett and Rhett go their separate ways following the eventsof GWTW.





	Reconvergence

****  
Part I  
****  
  
Scarlett slowly rose from where she’d crumpled at the bottom of the   
stairs, her tears drying on her cheeks. She needed time, they needed   
time, and they would have it. But at this moment, she owed the   
realization of her needs to Melanie, who deserved both their respects.  
  
By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she’d composed herself,   
and was an unknowingly perfect copy of the calm, repressed resolve   
she’d once so admired in her mother. Suddenly it seemed natural to her   
that her panic had subsided.  
  
Rhett’s door stood ajar, and she could see him methodically packing, a   
stony look on his face. She knocked softly on the doorframe.   
"Rhett?"  
  
"Scarlett," he sighed. "We’re done talking. I’m going."  
  
"You should stay for Melly’s funeral. We should both be there. We   
can both leave town the next day."  
  
He put down a hastily folded shirt and stared at her, his distrust evident.   
"You’re not leaving with me."  
  
"No, I’m going to Tara." She remained calm and resolute under his   
gaze.  
  
With a nod and a sigh, Rhett acquiesced. "Fine. We’ll both leave this   
God-forsaken town Saturday afternoon. I’ll go to the station and buy   
tickets now." He brushed past her, and below she heard the door slam   
behind him.  
  
For several minutes, she just stared at the scattered pieces of Rhett’s   
wardrobe and wondered how she’d failed to notice their marriage going   
to so irrevocably wrong. No answers swam to the surface of her weary   
brain, and she turned to her own room, to find a few minutes of rest   
before she would return to the Wilkes’ to help India plan the funeral.  
  
  
The days before the funeral passed in a blur. Scarlett and Rhett lived   
together as polite strangers, both frequently out of the house, only   
occasionally sharing meals. Their contact was restrained and it was not   
until they were in the carriage to the funeral, their respective baggage   
already on its way to the train depot, that they realized some words must   
indeed be necessary between them.  
  
Rhett broke the awkward silence first, a hand tracing his weary face as he   
spoke. "The children have already been sent to Tara?"  
  
"Yes," she said, giving a small nod. After a quiet hesitation, she asked,   
"I was thinking, though, that I might send Wade away to school in the   
fall. He’s a smart boy, and there’s not much in the way of school there,   
and I know he should go to university…" she trailed off, daring a glance   
at Rhett. She was speaking months into the future, of spending his   
money, unsure where their new boundaries lay.  
  
"That’s a fine idea, Scarlett. There’s a good school in Charleston, if   
you’d be willing to consider that. My mother would be happy to look in   
on him from time to time, as would I when I’m in town." There was a   
glint of admiration in his eye, and some willingness to meet her halfway.  
  
"Well, if you could send the address on to Tara, I can make   
arrangements. I’m sure Wade will like the idea much better, knowing   
he’ll see you from time to time."  
  
Silence reigned for several moments, only the steady sound of rain on   
the roof of the carriage surrounding them.  
  
"You’re going to Charleston, then?"  
  
"For now, for a while." He sighed heavily, slumped, as she’d never   
seen him, against the cushions. "After that, I’m not certain. But I need   
to get away from this tangled web we’ve woven."  
  
Scarlett blinked at him, unsure how to respond. Their arrival at the   
cemetery rendered words unnecessary. Rhett’s veneer of politeness   
returned, and he stepped out of the carriage first, opening an umbrella   
and taking her arm to shelter both of them as she descended.  
  
During the service, she was grateful for that arm, though some of the   
steely strength seemed to have gone out of it. As the reverend droned,   
Scarlett’s mind wandered to the man at her side, and she stole glances at   
his face, shadowed by umbrella and rainclouds. He looked as worn as   
her soul felt. Perhaps they both did need some time to renew, she   
thought, as the gathered mourners murmured ashes to ashes. Neither of   
them shed tears, for there were no more left to cry, though the blowing   
rain would have left anyone hard-pressed to tell.  
  
The mourners eyes were on them as they departed, silently, into their   
carriage. Scarlett cast one last glance out over the graves and thought of   
all that she’d lost, before turning to face Rhett as the carriage rumbled   
forward.  
  
"You said you’d be coming back?"  
  
"To keep gossip down, if it worries you. Though if you’re leaving   
indefinitely as well…" he shrugged and trailed off, once again slouching   
against the cushions.  
  
"Perhaps we can agree to meet back here, to see how things have been   
for both of us, at some point?"  
  
"You mean to discuss the possibility of divorce?" Rhett looked at her   
curiously.  
  
"No," she said with certainty. "Just to…keep up appearances, as you   
said, and make sure the children are well and finances are managed."  
  
"That sounds very…businesslike." It was almost a sneer.  
  
"If that’s what you’d prefer." She remained calm, not giving in to the   
temptation to snap back at him, refusing to take his bait.  
  
"Very well. When should I plan on returning?"  
  
"Oh. Um, would a year give you enough time to travel wherever you’re   
going?"  
  
There was a small light in his eyes as he said, "Yes, I suppose it would,   
Scarlett."  
  
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the depot. Once more, Rhett   
helped her down and walked inside, close to her, one umbrella sheltering   
them both. Inside, they stood awkwardly together for a moment, staring   
at one another.  
  
"Adieu, my pet." He kissed her once, gently, on the forehead and   
strode away into the clouds of steam and swirl of people on the platform.   
She could only gaze after him, until the sharp note of a steam engine   
broke into her consciousness, and her eye caught the clock.  
  
Turning away, she walked to the platform for the Jonesboro train with a   
firm, steady stride. Only when she was seated alone in her compartment   
and the train began puffing away from Atlanta did she allow her hot tears   
to fall freely.  
  
****  
Part II  
****  
  
Just as Ellen Robillard had at fifteen, at twenty-eight Scarlett Butler had   
collapsed to shed all her childish tears in one dark night of the soul, to   
rise up again as a woman. Her steel will, so often bent to her temper or   
obstinacy, tempered into resolve, and carried her through.  
  
This quiet resolve, along with a rather large check, bought her what all   
her anger never could have—Careen’s share of Tara. With her   
controlling share of the property, like her mother, Scarlett set about   
skillfully transforming what Will and Suellen had run as a functional   
large farm back into a plantation which, starting with a plan from   
Scarlett’s orderly mind, was beginning to be something better than it had   
been before. As much thought and planning was put into rebuilding and   
landscaping as she put into the cotton crop and books, and it showed.   
Tara slowly regained an air of easy grace, of beauty, and of symmetry.  
  
Scarlett, too, changed. The furnishings she chose to redecorate Tara with   
were not the gaudy, overwrought monstrosities she’d furnished the   
Peachtree house with. She chose simple, timeless pieces that blended   
well with the look of the property. Even her style of dress changed.   
Gone were the frills and fripperies, in favor of elegant, clean lines that   
only served to emphasize the graceful, mature air with which she now   
carried herself.  
  
If she was unhappy, no one noticed. Placing aside residual fears, she   
bought two horses from Beatrice Tarleton, and took to riding out with   
Wade each afternoon. This could not make up for all lost time, but it   
was a start on the road to amends. He was pleased with her idea to send   
him to school in Charleston, and spoke to her for the first time of his   
desire to attend University.  
  
Ella was an easier matter. As her mother had before her, she enlisted   
Mammy’s help in molding her silly daughter’s behavior into that of a   
proper young lady. While Ella had grown into a pretty girl with pink   
cheeks and bouncy curls, she was much more easily persuaded into   
good behavior than Scarlett had been. It took little effort and a few tea   
parties with Scarlett to begin to form a bond with her daughter.  
  
When she and Wade left for Charleston in September, rumors of   
Scarlett O’Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler’s exploits had preceded her   
to the city, bourn from the Old Guard to the even more elite society of   
that old costal town. But the Scarlett who arrived in Charleston did not   
live up to any of the scandalous gossip they’d heard. She stayed with   
her proper, polite mother-in-law, who brought her along to teas and   
social circles during the two weeks she was in town. Everyone   
exclaimed that they would have known right away she as a Robillard.  
  
What Eleanor Butler had been told of the state of their marriage by   
Rhett, Scarlett had no idea. But the hospitality she received was not in   
any way hostile, and she was treated as a daughter. They chatted politely   
about Rhett’s frequent long journeys out of the country, and how   
pleased Scarlett was to be able to take the time to work on rebuilding her   
family’s property. The elder Mrs. Butler was sorry to see her return to   
Georgia, and Scarlett admitted that she was reluctant to leave, but she   
followed her plans and returned to Tara, venturing only as far afield as   
Jonesboro before the date of her appointed meeting with Rhett in   
Atlanta.  
  
**  
  
Rhett fled Atlanta like the hounds of Hell were at his heels. He tarried   
only long enough in Charleston to make his excuses to his mother and   
notify his lawyer of his departure. Even he was unsure of where he was   
going, only knew that Europe seemed the best choice. Most of the long   
sail to Dover was passed in intoxication, as he tried unsuccessfully to   
drink away memories of Scarlett. He should haven known it wouldn’t   
work; he’d tried it several times before.  
  
London had been one of Rhett’s favorite cities, but now, it held too many   
memories. Too many times he’d fled here to sell cotton and try to forget   
Scarlett. The last time he’d been here was with Bonnie. The memories   
overwhelmed him, and rather than helping him forget, only caused him to   
remember.  
  
Across the Channel he fled, to Paris. Once he’d wanted to bring Scarlett   
here, and now he came to forget her; no memories of her tainted the city   
for him. Yet he could not help but think of when he passed shop   
windows displaying a green silk dress, or a particularly cunning hat.  
  
He tried to busy himself in the cafes and salons, the art expositions and   
horse races. They all passed in a colorful whirl and blurred together.   
The world was indeed a marvelous place, full of much grace and beauty.   
In the cobblestoned streets of Paris, Rhett found the life of calm and   
dignity he’d been chasing.   
  
Yet something was still missing. While he found it pleasurable to listen   
to symphonies and talk of art, to drink fine wine and watch swift horses   
race, there was a void in his heart. There was no one at his side, to   
appreciate his sharp comments or share his bed.  
  
Briefly, he thought he’d found his match at one of the salons, a petite   
blonde with dancing hazel eyes, who could comment sharply on   
literature while immaculately serving tea. Laure had captured his   
attention at Mme. De Gilles’ salon almost as swiftly as Scarlett had long   
ago at Twelve Oaks. She had returned his flirtations and returned his   
witty banter with equal tartness. He escorted her out several times, to the   
ballet and to the races, and but each time was left less impressed. Her   
sharp tongue, which had seemed to possess the honesty and candor he’d   
encouraged in Scarlett, grew sharper; rather than speaking with frank   
intelligence, she spoke with malicious glee.  
  
Finding that the life of beauty and calm he’d discovered in Paris was but   
a veneer, he ran once more. This time Venice was his refuge. On to   
Florence, once he found that the veneer was just as present over the   
canals. But he found it again in Florence, and left the city for the south   
of France.  
  
For a time he lost himself in sporting, drinking, and games of chance   
along the Riviera. Soon, though, this too came to bore him. One   
evening he sat on the terrace, finishing a bottle of wine and watching the   
last of the ships enter the harbor for the evening. Life, he was beginning   
to realize was not so very different wherever he went in the world.   
Society maintained strict rules and hypocrisy no matter where he   
traveled, though the rules might vary slightly and the vices might be   
different. He could tolerate the rules and hypocrisy if only there were a   
reason to stay settled, an fine as all of these cities were, and as much as   
they offered, they were lacking the one thing he wanted. Scarlett.  
  
But could he go back to her? He’d brought her nothing but misery in   
the last few years. They’d parted with her declaring her love for him, but   
was it true? No, he knew it was; Scarlett was skilled in many ways, but   
she was terrible at lying to him. She’d meant what she told him, and it   
frightened him all the more. He’d witnessed what her "love" for   
Ashley had done to her life, to their marriage, to Ashley Wilkes. While   
he couldn’t live without her, he wasn’t sure he could live with that, either.  
  
Rhett sighed and finished the bottle of wine, then threw it against the   
stone of the terrace. It provided satisfaction, but no answers. Alcohol   
never had provided him with any, nor had it provided him much comfort,   
truth be told.  
  
In the clear light of the Mediterranean morning, he admitted to himself   
what his heart had known for years. Scarlett was essential to him, and he   
needed her in his life. If she’d meant what she said, if she was willing to   
try, he would try again. With honesty this time, for he’d had enough of   
the polite lies and quiet hypocrisies of the world.  
  
Rhett spent the few remaining months before his rendezvous with   
Scarlett in Atlanta traveling through Europe, a new lightness to him. He   
knew what lay ahead of him, knew that in mere months time, there would   
be a second chance at happiness. For now, he embraced the happiness   
available to him. This time, when he passed through Paris on the way to   
Calais, he actually appreciated the sparkle of light at play in the   
controversial new art.  
  
****  
Part III  
****  
  
The Butler house had stood empty for a year, and the two-day advance   
arrival by a small army of servants could not entirely remove the musty   
air of the building. But by the time Scarlett arrived, the floors were   
polished and the furniture was gleaming.  
  
As if with new eyes, Scarlett took in the home she’d begged Rhett to let   
her build, and was unhappy with it. The house seemed dark, ponderous   
and heavy, and lacked the simple elegance she’d come to appreciate   
while renovating Tara.   
  
Her luggage had been quickly carried up to her room, so the crate sitting   
in the entry intrigued her. It was addressed to Rhett, in his own hand,   
and shipped from Paris. She stared at it with a mild curiosity while   
removing her bonnet and gloves. She wondered not about the specifics   
of the contents, but why Rhett had bothered shipping something to   
Atlanta at all. Could it be a sign he intended to remain?  
  
Before she could ponder this question too deeply, or even put away her   
hat, the door swung open to admit Rhett and a gust of wind that fluttered   
her skirts. He quickly drew her attention, and she noticed that the air of   
drink and exhaustion that had surrounded him their last days together   
seemed to have departed, and there was once more a healthy glow to his   
skin.  
  
"Welcome home, Rhett," she said, with exactly the proper amount of   
pleasantness in her voice.  
  
Rhett removed his hat and stared at her for a moment, during which she   
could feel his eyes roaming the simple lines of her celery-colored dress.   
"The same to you, Scarlett. You’re looking lovely as ever."  
  
"Thank you." She nodded, and an odd feeling of discomfiture spread   
across them. To fill the awkward gap, as neither of them quite knew how   
to proceed, she began to tell him about Wade’s time at school and how   
much Ella had grown.  
  
As if routine, they ended in the parlor, with Scarlett serving them tea   
from the tray Prissy had wordlessly provided. She could feel Rhett’s   
eyes on her all the while, studying her, not just her body or her dress, but   
watching her movements, the way one studies a dueling opponent.  
  
She handed him a cup of tea and politely asked, "I trust you had an   
enjoyable trip you Europe? You look refreshed."  
  
His eyes seemed to bore into her for a moment over the rim of his teacup   
before he responded. "It was an enlightening experience," he said   
ambiguously.  
  
"Oh, where did you visit?"  
  
It took her several leading questions to pry any sort of narrative from   
Rhett. She could tell that he was being vague and leaving out what had   
to be key pieces of the narrative, for surely he must have done something   
besides laze about. It was, she though, most unlike him.  
  
The forced conversation ended when Rhett announced his departure for   
the bank. They spent the rest of their day as they had the last year   
together in this house, as cool strangers who happened to inhabit the   
same space.  
  
Scarlett was inwardly frustrated by this cold distance between them, but   
remained serene. He had left her; she would not throw herself at him   
again.   
  
A crack in the ice appeared as they settled down to an oddly formal   
dinner. Scarlett had almost forgotten how cavernous the dining room   
could be in the dusk of evening, and interrupted the quiet clinking of   
silver or porcelain. "It’s terribly gloomy in here, don’t you think?"  
  
Rhett put down his fork and stared at her, suspicion and confusion and   
the faintest flicker of hope swirling across his face. "Yes, it is."  
  
"I’ve spent much of this past year working on improving Tara. I think   
perhaps I’d like to spend some time now changing this house, if that   
would be all right with you." She was intensely curious as to what his   
response would be, for she knew he’d hated the way the house had been   
decorated.  
  
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "that sounds like a fine idea,   
Scarlett."  
  
Conversation stalled from there once more, until they were finishing   
dessert.  
  
"If you’re serious about redecorating, I should show you what’s inside   
that crate in the hallway you were so curious about this morning.   
Perhaps the contents could be incorporated into your plans."   
  
She followed him into the foyer and watched as he broke open the   
wooden crating and unwrapped a canvas. He propped it against the wall   
and watched as she studied it. At first, she took a few steps closer,   
furrowing her brows, trying to understand what she was looking at, so   
different than any of the scant pieces of art she’d seen before. Then she   
took several steps back, looking beyond the whites and blues and greens,   
and was able to appreciate the larger image.  
  
"Why, it’s so pretty! But I’ve never seen anything like it before. You   
bought this in Paris?"  
  
He nodded and removed the protective wrappings from a second canvas,   
this one too featuring boats on a river. "I did, several of them. The art   
world’s not sure what to make of them, and this band of painters has   
received quite a bit of criticism. But I think they’ve done something   
unique."  
  
"Yes. I don’t know anything about art, but why wouldn’t anyone like   
these? They make you want to be outside somewhere just like this!"   
For the first time since she’d arrived, a true smile was teasing at the   
corner of her lips.  
  
"I’m glad you like them, Scarlett. Are they something you’d like to   
incorporate into your decorating scheme?" He looked expectant, and   
she swiftly moved to reassure him.  
  
"Oh, yes. They’re lovely, and the house would look so much brighter   
done in colors like these."  
  
"You’ve changed," he said simply, no longer paying any heed to his   
new artwork, lost in her face. "But not all for the better, I think."  
  
"Why—why what do you mean?" She was confused. That she had   
changed was in no doubt, and while the praise and comparisons to her   
mother she’d received were reassuring, she wasn’t all together certain   
she was happy. But she’d expected Rhett to be, who seemed to care so   
much for ladies like his mother and Melanie.  
  
Silence filled the monstrous house for a long moment before he   
answered, eyes fixed on hers. "You seem to have matured. Today   
you’ve been a lady all day, and it hasn’t been an act. But something’s   
gone out of you, the sparkle had vanished from your eyes until just   
now."  
  
She looked down at the paintings, fixated on the blotchy boats, hiding   
her eyes from his assessing stare. "I had to change, I couldn’t go on   
being beat down one way or another at everything that happened to me.   
So I’ve just done what needed doing. Charleston seemed impressed   
enough," she ended softly, apologetically.  
  
"And do I still hold your heart, as you so claimed in this hallway a year   
ago?" There was no maliciousness to his question, only curiosity.   
Looking into his eyes, she saw hope, too.  
  
"You must have it, must have taken it with you when you left. I certainly   
haven’t felt it, or used it, in this last year." She sighed and looked away,   
aware of the gravity of what she’d admitted.  
  
Without a word, Rhett took her hand and led to her to the parlor. When   
she was seated on the divan, he poured them both some brandy and sat   
down beside her. Neither of them drank.  
  
"When I was in Europe, I realized I didn’t want the polite veneer of   
society after all. I wanted something of grace and beauty, but I wanted it   
on my terms, honest terms. I wanted a life that wasn’t a constant battle.  
  
"You’ve turned yourself into nothing but a veneer. All the passion’s   
gone out of you, and the first time I saw any glimmer at all was at the   
mention of redecorating with those paintings. There’s a balance   
somewhere between the veneer and the passion."  
  
She furrowed her brow and tried to absorb all he was telling her. "I   
haven’t allowed myself to feel anything in so long. There had been so   
much hurt, it was easier not to feel, to just be what everyone expected of   
me."  
  
"And what do you feel now?"  
  
For a long silent moment she stared at him, and sparkle and a barely   
contained tear in her eyes. "Afraid," she admitted.  
  
"Afraid?" Rhett’s voice was tender, and he looked puzzled.  
  
"If I let myself feel anything for you, it will just hurt too much when   
you leave."  
  
"What if I don’t?"  
  
"You want to stay? I thought you didn’t love me." She took a first sip   
of the brandy, trying to calm her nerves and prevent tears from falling.   
Feeling was returning to her numbed soul, and it’s potential was   
terrifying.  
  
Rhett sighed heavily and swirled the brandy in its snifter. "I shouldn’t   
have said what I did. I couldn’t love you at that moment; it had been too   
hard to love you for a while, and I was worn out with trying. I needed   
time away to realize why I’d loved you in the first place."  
  
"And that’s changed things?" Her voice sounded very quiet, even to   
her.  
  
"I need you in my life Scarlett, but I need all of you, not the shell of   
you. I’d like us to try again, to try and live pleasantly together. Do you   
think that’s possible?"  
  
Slowly, she nodded. "I think it is, we both want it. We just need to talk   
like this, rather than shouting so much, and saying things we   
shouldn’t."  
  
With a soft clink, Rhett tapped his brandy snifter against hers. "To   
second chances?"  
  
"Second chances."   
  
They both took a small sip then Rhett abandoned his on the side table in   
favor of pulling Scarlett into his arms. "I’ve wanted to do this since I   
walked in the door."   
  
For a moment, she was happy just to be held in his arms once more.   
Then she tilted up her head and caught his eye, and their lips came   
together in a kiss. All the passion and emotion she’d been suppressing   
came flooding back in that instant.   
  
She knew things had irrevocably changed between them, and the promise   
had been sealed with a kiss. It would not be an easy road ahead, but they   
would negotiate it together.  
  
****


End file.
